


Accustomisation

by Ajur



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: LLF Comment Project, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 05:25:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13920306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ajur/pseuds/Ajur
Summary: One of the hardest parts of getting used to being a Flesh Eater, Akhos reflected, had been falling ill.





	Accustomisation

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in rarepair hell again! Woooo!

One of the hardest parts of getting used to being a Flesh Eater, Akhos reflected, had been falling ill. 

From an outsider perspective, it had always looked like humans were making a Titan out of a core crystal whenever they were sick. They had no snapped bones, no flesh wounds; no burn marks, no bruises, no visible injuries at all. And yet they'd lie in bed all day, complaining about whatever ailed them. He'd understood, rationally, that they were unwell, but a part of him had judged them for being weak. 

When he'd fallen ill for the first time, he'd retracted that idea immediately. 

Patroka had mocked him, but she too had shut up quickly after catching it from him. Malos, unfortunately, continued to be immune and _hadn't_ stopped making fun of them. Blast that man. 

Being sick was simply dreadful. 

He grabbed the water bottle on his nightstand and groaned when he found it empty. Curses. He wasn't up for getting another one from the kitchen, but his throat would kill him if he didn't. Then again, it would do that anyway; swallowing hurt nearly as much as not drinking did. Maybe if he willed himself to sleep, someone would have brought more by the time he woke up. 

...

...

...

He pushed the blanket back. This wasn't working. For all he wanted to sleep, he felt wide awake and thirstier by the minute. It looked like he wasn't getting out of dragging himself over to the kitchen. 

With a sigh he pushed himself into a sitting position. Architect, the dizziness was even worse than the pounding headache. 

He reached for the blurry red shape that were his glasses, and made a face when his fingers brushed over the glass. Smudges. Great. If getting used to illnesses had been difficult, becoming accustomed to having to wear glasses had been next to impossible. He missed having perfect vision. Glasses were nothing but a colossal inconvenience; they needed to be cleaned, they broke at the worst possible time, and Patroka enjoyed hiding them entirely too much when she was mad at him. 

Delaying the inevitable by thinking about glasses hadn't summoned anyone with a drink, unfortunately. He inched to the edge of his bed and stood up on wobbly legs. He'd planned to put on proper clothes, but his pyjamas would have to do. The last thing he wanted was to spend more time on his feet. 

He opened the door with a creak—he really had to do something about those hinges, when he stopped feeling like tearing out his throat—and stepped into the corridor. Nobody around. He'd hoped Mikhail or Jin would be present. Those two would have helped with a minimum of unwelcome commentary, but no such luck. 

The kitchen wasn't far away from his room, bless the Architect. Just a short walk, and then he could go back to bed. 

Unfortunately, when he entered the kitchen, he was greeted by the sight of Malos's back and the sound of something being chopped.

"Finally done lazing around?" Malos said without turning around. 

Blasted Aegis sixth sense that allowed him to know who was coming, and blast _him_ for denying he had it. And for being in the kitchen at this precise time. And for being an asshole. 

"Piss off." Akhos winced at the sound of his voice, and at how much speaking hurt. When had he sounded so hoarse the last time? Oh, he loathed not being able to speak freely. 

Malos, of course, made no move to piss off. “Did anyone ever tell you you start sounding like Patroka when you're ill?“

“Yes. You. The last time this happened.“ Akhos opened the fridge and scanned the contents. No juice. Who'd taken the juice? It had been _specifically_ marked as his. And that meant there were only two suspects: the asshole currently located to his left, and his sister. Jin was nice enough not to take his stuff and Mikhail had learnt the hard way not to, but Malos and Patroka were simply incorrigible. 

Malos pointedly ignored the accusing stare levelled on him. Oh, _now_ he was oblivious to what was happening around him, was he?

Akhos contemplated arguing, but found that he really did not feel up for it. The less he had to talk the better, and Malos's antics were the last thing he wanted to put up with, sick as he was. Instead, he merely closed the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. 

“What, not even a threat of retribution?“

“Once I feel better you'll be in a world of pain if it turns out you were the one who took my juice. Satisfied?“ Akhos cringed inwardly at how generic it was. Embarrassing. Even in his current state he ought to be able to do better than _that._

“Hardly. You didn't even give any details.“ Malos abandoned whatever he was chopping up and turned around. There was a greedy expression on his face. 

Akhos pinched the bridge of his nose. “Architect, Malos, do you have to do this _now_? I just want to go back to bed.“

Oh no. He shouldn't have said that. 

“What a coincidence, I—“

“Malos, I am _not_ having sex with you right now, although if you weren't immune I'd say yes just to infect you for even suggesting it.“ That insufferable man. Soliciting sex in this situation! This would have been an enjoyable exchange at any other time, but not when he could hardly walk straight!

“Suit yourself. You know where to find me if you change your mind.“ Malos directed his attention back to the counter and went back to his chopping. Carrots, apparently. What was he making at this time of the day anyway? But no, asking would just result in more obnoxious comments, so Akhos left the kitchen without any further words. 

Halfway to his room he heard a soft buzzing sound, and before he could react a sharp pain blossomed in his ankle. 

“That rotten, cursed, good-for-nothing pile of—“

This particular antic of Malos was the last of the last he wanted to deal with. For reasons none of them could quite comprehend, the man had found it hilarious to tape a knife to the cleaning bot Mikhail had built. They'd tried to remove it, but it kept mysteriously reappearing no matter what, and eventually they'd all given up and started watching their feet. 

Akhos kicked it over and watched its tiny legs skutter uselessly in the air. Served it right for stabbing him. The wound wasn't deep, since they'd at least been able to talk Malos down from using the meat cleaver; it would have healed by the time he reached his room, but it did nothing to improve his mood. 

Laughter interrupted his thoughts. He turned around and saw Patroka, holding a half empty bottle of juice— _his_ juice. 

“You—no, you know what, I'm not in the mood. Keep it. I'm going to my room and I'm not coming out again in the foreseeable future.“

Patroka had the gall to look disappointed. 

Sometimes Akhos wondered why he was even putting up with these people. Sister or no, she was infuriatingly good at driving him up the wall. At the very least she didn't insist on arguing this time.

With a sigh he closed the door behind himself and collapsed on his bed. Much better. Now he could relax and hopefully stay… undisturbed… 

The sound of the door opening woke him up. He cracked open a bleary eye. Malos. Of course. Who else was incapable of learning to knock before entering?

“I'm still not having...“ He stopped. His voice was even worse than it had been. How long had he slept? His throat felt like sandpaper… 

“Wow, you sound like shit.“ 

Akhos reached for the bottle and took a long sip. “ _Now_ do you believe me I'm ill?“

“I believed you from the beginning. It's just that you're making a big deal out of nothing.“ Malos set down a bowl on his nightstand. Steam rose from it, and even though his sense of smell was impacted, he caught a whiff of chicken soup.

“Aw, Malos, you're _so_ caring.“ Not that he didn't appreciate it, but he'd let the cleaning bot stab him again before admitting that in front of Malos. 

“Don't look at me. _I_ said it was a stupid idea, but Patroka insisted it helps. Besides, the chicken needed to go anyway.“

In the past, Akhos would have made fun of him for trying to look indifferent when he clearly wasn't, especially with such a weak excuse. The chicken needed to go? Really? How transparent. 

Since then he'd learned Malos didn't mince words like that. If he said he'd thought it was a silly idea, then he wouldn't have lifted a finger if Patroka hadn't suggested it. If he said he'd needed to use the leftovers, then that was it. Knowing him, he'd probably seen it as a chance to shut him up too. If there was one thing that got on Malos's nerves, it was complaining. 

He didn't think Malos realised it, but that was enough reason for him to complain even more sometimes. Patroka wasn't the only one who liked to push other people's buttons.

“I'm not going to stand here and watch you sulk. You better eat all of it, seeing how I went through the trouble of making it just for you and even bringing it to your room.“ Without waiting for a reply, Malos marched out of the room again, shutting the door behind himself.

That wasn't something Akhos needed to be told twice. Five hundred years of practice had made Malos a superb cook. He had a knack for making even something as simple as chicken soup delicious. 

Sometimes he wondered why he put up with these people. Right now he didn't.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading all the way to the end. There's something I'd like to address now that you're here. I have no way of knowing what exactly a reader is trying to communicate if they leave kudos without a comment. Different people leave them for different reasons, ranging from "I loved this" to "I give kudos to everything I finish" and everything in between, and it's impossible for me to tell where they fall on that spectrum. As a result, whenever I get kudos without comments, my reaction isn't "Hey, somebody liked my fic", but "I don't know what you mean by that". 
> 
> I really want to understand how people feel about my writing! So, if you're up for it, I'd greatly appreciate if you could leave a comment to clarify what exactly you meant. A short "I liked this" or "Please write more like this" or whatever else you left kudos for is more than enough, if you don't feel like leaving a long comment (though I certainly won't complain if you do write more than that!)
> 
> * * *
> 
> This story is part of [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites:  
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